Writing Rhythms

 Six years later, every word is still true.  

When my husband proposed, he didn't know he'd be marrying a writer. Then again, neither did I.

I mean, he knew I liked to write but, when we met, community theatre was my creative pursuit. Writing was something I did sometimes. Community theatre shows came with a schedule -- albeit a very-time consuming one -- attached.

Writing does not.

When we first met, I was working full-time as an elementary school counselor in a large school district. A part-time opening arose in a smaller district and I jumped at it. Suddenly, I was working four days a week instead of five.

So, on the fifth day, I wrote.

Life was so much simpler then. It was just the two of us and, although I took my writing time and my budding freelance career seriously, I could compartmentalize it. It was not yet a career unto itself with a tendency to ooze outside the walls in which I contained it.

Fast forward two decades (give or take). Motherhood, a different job, regular writing gigs, book contracts and the occasional show at the community theatre all clamor for the time that was once allotted for just my husband and me, and none of these things has any desire to stay in its lane. Once adept at exiting one lane and merging into another at a moment's notice, I now (often) feel as though I'm navigating oncoming traffic. It's kind of exciting (when it's not terrifying).

It's a good life in which ideas reign, jockeying for position alongside relationships, holidays and life in general. But the trouble with ideas is that they don't tend to stay in their own lane. Although sitting down to write at a specific time builds a good writing habit, it doesn't necessarily mean the ideas will show up at the allotted hour. And the trouble with the aging brain is that it can't hang onto the ideas that pop up unexpectedly, like a great roadside attraction, as well as it used to.

In the first writing class I took, I remember being advised to carry a notebook around with me to jot down those ideas as they popped up. As a twenty-something with a reliable memory, I didn't fully understand the importance of that advice, but I do now. I have notebooks everywhere -- in my purse, in my school bag, in my car, in my office and in the dresser beside my bed. My husband barely even notices when I open the drawer beside the bed at 3 AM to jot down something I don't want to forget. Today, before putting the finishing touches on this post, I consolidated no less than five lists with ideas, to-dos and random thoughts.

Welcome to the inside of my brain.

manueldesign via Pixabay

My husband has been a pretty good traveling companion, especially for someone who had no idea what this ride would entail. He doesn't understand that writing is like a small child. It needs attention and it needs down time to consolidate all that has happened. If ignored, it will pester the writer, making her cranky until she attends to it and, for her part, if the writer is away from the writing for too long, she will miss it. Absence will, indeed, make the heart grow fonder, engaging the writer's selective memory so that she recalls only how lovely it was to spend time in writing's presence, but not the long silence, angry spats and misspoken words.

For writing, every day is the same. It doesn't understand, nor does it respect, weekends, holidays and a full night's sleep. It will call the writer away from all of these things, luring her with a new idea, a well-turned phrase or the perfect plot/character/ending/beginning that it has withheld for so long.

As I write this, I am being interrupted every ten minutes or so by the kitchen timer, reminding me to take Christmas cookies out of the oven. After I post this, I will want nothing more than to move on to another writing endeavor, but errands, wrapping and other holiday responsibilities will pull me away from my keyboard.

Wherever I go, writing will be my traveling companion, growing more vociferous the longer I stay away. Like a child, it doesn't yet understand that, no matter where I go, I carry it with me and no matter how long I am away, I will always be back.

I am a writer, and those are the rules of the game.

Jersey Girls Don't Rule -- Except When They Do

 Once upon a time, a school counselor wrote a book of scenarios for adults to use with children of divorce. Each scenario featured different characters and situations and each character had his or her own voice. Some were compliant; others were strident. Some were sad; others were defiant. Some spoke properly; others saw grammar as merely a guideline. 

As a result, some were more easily accepted into a book written to be used by school counselors who, after all, worked in schools where things like proper grammar and a lack of defiance were valued.

One of these characters, a girl named Keesha, had a good heart, but lacked not only the finer things in life, but also the polish that comes from having those things. This lack of polish led to her exit from the book.

But Keesha would not stop talking. She knew she'd found an audience in the author who had created her, and she insisted that the author make a place for her, ideally in a book of her own.

The author tried to honor Keesha's wishes, but other editors and agents were similarly put off by Keesha's voice, which frequently hid the tender heart that she went to a great deal of effort to keep a secret.

Or perhaps they didn't like the writing. Or there was another issue. In any event, Keesha remained homeless, at least in the publishing world, and eventually her voice grew faint, even to the author who had created her. 

Then Amazon, who had made a home for Marita and her friends, started a platform called Vella. Because Keesha was written more for children than adults, a serialized platform seemed like a good place for her to try out her voice, one chapter at a time. 

And, for a while, it was.

But eventually, Kindle closed down the Vella platform. Once again, Keesha was homeless.

And once again, she refused to be silenced. She's pretty determined that way.

So, on a January day, Keesha moved out of Vella and into a home of her own between the covers of an ebook. Her voice, still as strong as ever, could now be shared all at once, or a little at a time, depending on the preference of the reader.

But, because not everyone likes ebooks, Keesha insisted on another format as well. And so on Monday, January 20, Keesha's story will also be available in paperback.

Keesha is very happy with this ending, as is the author who created her. 

Keesha is also pushing for a sequel.

We'll see.

Friday Feature: Under My Christmas Tree

 When I looked under the tree on Christmas, after all the unwrapping and ooh-ing and ah-ing had been completed, I had one thought.

My family knows me.

Admittedly, I'd given them a list, but even the off-list items were a good fit. My Christmas haul included warm socks, jewelry, stylus pencils for my iPad, stationery, chocolate, and a jigsaw puzzle of Stars Hollow, of Gilmore Girls fame.

Oh -- and books. The ones featured in the photo above, as a matter of fact.

I am not usually a cookbook kind of girl, but I actually bought the Colbert cookbook (Does This Taste Funny?) for myself and handed it to my husband to wrap and put under the tree. Colbert fan that I am, I devoured that book first. Though the recipes aren't our usual fare, I loved reading the stories that accompanied each of them, and I did manage to find one or two I'll actually try.

The Michael Storrings book (New York in Four Seasons) and the West Wing book (What's Next) also appeared under the tree thanks to none-too-subtle hints I dropped. I have a number of Michael Storrings jigsaw puzzles (I just finished one last week, as a matter of fact) and asked for (and received) two of his prints for my birthday. I'm looking forward to paging through the book in a leisurely, vacation-worthy fashion and savoring more of his work.

The West Wing book will require a bit more stamina, being more of a traditional read than the others (and a thick one at that), but I'm looking forward to it, nevertheless. My daughter, with whom I watched the show, was the one who made sure that book was among my treasures, and that made it even sweeter.

Given that I had a hand in what appeared under the tree, it might seem as though I'm giving my family too much credit (nah!). But what impressed me the most is this: not only is everything something I wanted (or, as in the case of a stationery item my daughter got for me, something I didn't even know I wanted, but I did) everything is useful (or edible). I'm at a stage in my life where I don't want flashy or showy things for Christmas anymore. I want things I can use, things that remind me of the giver, and things that don't require me to do a complete overhaul of my house in order to find them a home after the tree is down and put away. Little by little, I've been using each item, smiling as I do so, and then easily finding it a home when I'm finished -- something I wanted, but did not specifically ask for, making me appreciate it even more.

Low-key, lovely, and with joy that lingers after the last present is unwrapped. What more could I ask for? 

One Size Does Not Fit All

 Did you make a New Year's resolution to get organized? If so, you're not alone, and every retailer and shopping network knows it. As you go in search of the perfect tool, remember that one person's perfect solution is another person's waste of money. Containers don't organize people; people organize people. 

If you're in search of some non-traditional, more personalized ways of getting it together, I invite you to peruse my other blog, Organizing by STYLE or perhaps even pick up a copy of Know Thyself: The Imperfectionist's Guide to Sorting Your Stuff. (If you go to amazon.com, you can read enough of the beginning to get the flavor of the whole book). 

Whatever you do, don't let your desire for clear spaces make you desperate. As you drop that bin or basket or planner into your virtual shopping cart (or hold it in your hand), really think about whether it's going to work for you, rather than simply for the person who benefits from its sale. Be realistic about what you are and are not willing to do, and don't label the latter as laziness. 

Happy shopping. I hope you find just what you're looking for.

Yesterday, while my husband and I were browsing at the warehouse club near my parents' home, I came across a spiral-bound planner. It was done in lovely florals and pastels and reeked of optimism. I couldn't help myself. I picked it up. I opened it, and was immediately overcome by one thought...

Are they kidding? If I could fit my life into these skinny little columns, I wouldn't need  a planner!

Nearby, a binder called "the ultimate organizer" (in soothing lower case letters) also called out to me. This one offered to be the tool that put my life in order, but all I could think was that if I had time to file things by category and use all the lovely labels and folders provided in this beautiful, Type A tool, I would have already done so, which would render this system just as useless as the planner.

Don't get me wrong. I'm sure these organizers work for someone, and that someone will be overjoyed to not only flip through these tools, but purchase them and take them home. There, they will use them and reap the benefits proclaimed on the front covers.

It's just that I'm not that someone.

Those of us who struggle to keep things in order can be easily seduced by pretty covers and promising proclamations. The market is glutted with organizational tools that tease us with the hope of an end to clutter and easy retrieval of important materials and information. Unfortunately, if you don't think the way the planner thinks (so to speak), these pretty problem-solvers merely end up becoming part of the mess rather than the way out of it.

For the past several years, I've spent the early months of the school year teaching my fifth graders about organization. Far from a Type A paradigm of organizational virtue myself, I've taught my students not an organizational method, but the need to respect their own style of organization. What I hope they will be able to do by the end of these lessons is exactly what I did at that warehouse club - pick up a tool, evaluate its effectiveness for them and either purchase it or put it back based on an informed assessment of its attributes, not the promises it proclaims or the how pretty it will look on a shelf.

As you approach the new year and consider your organizing challenges, see if you, too can find a way to make your tools fit you rather than the other way around. Resolve not to begin the new year as a slave to a three-ringed or spiral-bound dictator. If you buy a pretty package, make sure you know what you plan to put in it.

Because after all, you can't judge a book by its cover - or an organizer by its promises.

Planner photo taken from Amazon.com.

At the time of this blog's posting, it was temporarily out of stock.

Creativity

 A couple of years ago, I started trying to balance productivity with creativity and other pursuits that allow my mind to wander with no intended destination. The purpose was not so much to step out of my box as to expand its walls so that I'd learn to appreciate the act of creativity or cogitation itself, rather than only crediting myself if the finished product checked a box.

In the interim, I've spent more time on word puzzles, collages, and even crocheting. I've considered the uses of mindfulness beyond meditation and expanded my definition of creativity. I've continued to look for interesting ways to organize my home and my life and to add pops of color to my house as I redecorate and reconfigure spaces.

The collages have been my favorite, allowing me to play with colors, and textures, and layers -- something that's an important part of writing, albeit from a different angle. I used to love doing these for friends when I was in college, using words and scraps from magazines and newspapers to incorporate their personalities onto the page.

With my collages now, I'm looking less for defining characteristics and more for interesting combinations -- another thing that matters a lot in writing. Reading about junk journaling and trash collages has allowed me to see junk mail, paper scraps, and broken things as potential ingredients in something larger and more interesting.

Having always defined creativity in traditional and somewhat narrow terms, I never really thought of myself as creative in the visual arts. My sketches don't look like the objects or people I use as my inspiration. I'm not particularly adept at painting, nor do I have the patience for it (unless, perhaps, it's paint by numbers). I can execute a chain stitch, a single stitch, and a double stitch in crochet, and I can sew a reasonably straight seam, but I lack faith in my ability to turn those basic skills into a finished product that resembles much of anything useful.

Clearly, I've muddled creativity and productivity, but, as I've explored creativity, and expanded my definitions, I've actually begun to rethink all of this. The simple act of creativity itself has so much to offer, whether or not it becomes something more. 

And so I'm very excited to explore the newest addition to my bookshelf, which arrived on Saturday and which I opened almost immediately. A simple, but colorful list of 1001 creative pursuits, it promises to expand my definition, and the walls of that original box, even further. I hope that, by extension, I'll increase my appreciation for my own creative instincts, impulses and abilities as well.

Definitely a fun way to start a new year. 

What creative pursuits will you incorporate this year?

 

Getting Started, No Matter What Day it Is

 I saw a post on social media yesterday that coined the word "Blursday" -- suitable for those days during a vacation when it's a challenge to figure out what day of the week it is. 

A perfect fit for the last week. Or today, for that matter.

Mind you, I know that it's New Year's Day. But I still have to stop and think about what day of the week it is, a condition that is unlikely to improve significantly until I go back to work later this month. 

Since it's the first day of a new month -- and a new year! -- I'll spend some time today setting goals for the month. This is a practice I enjoy, especially in the months when I keep myself in check and set goals that are likely to inspire growth, rather than frustration. 

Each month, I set goals in the areas of health/self-care, reading, writing/creativity, organizing, and work, with an occasional addition based on what I am working on/want to accomplish. Some goals are meant to nudge me forward, others to rein me in, keeping me from setting enormous expectations that will only frustrate and overwhelm me.

I use a specific notebook for my goal-setting, so the first step today will be to set up that notebook. I don't usually need to do this but today, as I turned the page from December to January, I discovered that I'd used the last page in the section of my notebook that's formatted the way I like for this task (big blank blocks, as opposed to typical notebook pages). Undeterred, I headed to my office in search of pages in a similar format and found some old calendar inserts that will do the trick. They are outdated, and will need a little primping to bring them up to snuff but, to me, that's a bonus. I get to start with a bit of creativity, which is sure to enhance the whole process. 

Doing this process twelve times a year, as opposed to the one-and-done of New Year's resolutions helps me to pause each month and consider what matters to me in the moment. Old goals can be updated, or scrapped entirely, and new goals can be added or used to replace a goal that has been accomplished or one that's no longer suitable. If I don't quite hit the mark, it's not a problem -- I can try again the next month.

Some people do New Year's resolutions. Others do monthly goals, or choose words to represent or shape the coming year. Still others ignore this process entirely. 

Which one are you?

Image by Rosy / Bad Homburg / Germany from Pixabay

A Writing Posts with a Few Random Links (It's Scary in my Brain)

LibelSanRo via Pixabay

  I started writing this post yesterday -- one of my typical the-semester-is-over-and-now-I-can-write posts. I was struggling a bit with what I wanted to say, though, so I switched gears and wrote something else -- something that had a deadline -- and it wasn't until last night that I realized that I'd never finished this one, let alone posted it.

Yeah. That about sums it up.

The semester is over, and I want to do all the things, as my friend Sarah says. I want to write. I want to read. I want to sleep in. I want to wrap presents. I want to organize actual and virtual things. I want to watch random television and videos, like the YouTube video of David Schwimmer on The Great Stand Up to Cancer Bake Off I found completely by accident last night. 

I want to shrink my pile of magazines by actually reading them instead of just recycling them to get them out of my way. I want to finish the jigsaw puzzle that's been on the table in the sunroom for too many months. I want to spend time with the people I love but, truth be told, I also want to have stretches of time where I can revel in the peace and quiet that allows my creativity to flow. 

I suspect that somewhere, in the recesses of my brain, I actually believe I can do all these things -- maybe even in the same day (okay, maybe two days). My rational brain tells me this is ridiculous, but the pleasure circuits in my brain extend their little neurons and beg for massive doses of neurotransmitters (kinda like that plant in Little Shop of Horrors). 

And so I start things and finish a few. Others get abandoned or curtailed by some annoying necessity like making dinner. And writing, which is a bit amorphous at the moment because I'm between projects, gets set aside in favor of something else. 

The space between projects is an odd one. Sometimes, it's a barren landscape, which is terrifying. Will I ever have an idea again? If so, will it be different enough from what I've already written to stand on its own?

World-fly via Pixabay

Happily, I have a couple of ideas, along with finishing touches that need to be done on the novel I'm ready to submit to agents and the middle grade ebook that needs a cover. But the ideas right now are just that -- ideas -- and not even the Not Ready for Prime Time Players (to steal a phrase from SNL).

I'm not yet sure how I want the next paragraph to start so please excuse me while I move laundry from the washer to the dryer.

I'm back.

As the space between semesters collides with the space between projects, I'm slowly realizing that I need a transition period -- one that allows the productivity-seeking part of my brain an opportunity to shift gears. This is a tad challenging during a season that comes with more than its own fair share of lists, but allowing my writing to emerge instead of scribbling it down as one other item on a to-do list might be a great way to afford myself that luxury.

So, what will my writing look like? Most likely, it'll be a bit like the recipes I'm dusting off for the holidays. A cup of reading, which immerses me in someone else's words and often leads me down the what-if road so essential to fiction and idea generation. A cup or so of journaling, where the ideas can run free, rather than being confined to a particular topic. A pinch of writing prompts and sprinkle of writing exercises to add some structure, but not the strictness of paragraphs and chapters. 

And finally, perhaps most important, time spent among characters -- the real ones that surround me and the fictional ones taking shape in my mind and, eventually, on the page. They are, after all, at the heart of whatever this is I'm trying to do.